DRACO nearly turns back and runs to his room twice over. But he can't. He has to do this. He has to or he risks dragging Zilliah into this mess. So keeping one foot in front of the other, he treads through the snow, his mind whirring away.
His first task- the Vanishing Cabinet. Even finding it in that huge room of rubbish was a task in itself and it took him three whole days. With that, he thought that half his job was done- but no, it was just beginning.
The fixing of external damage was simple enough and he got it to look as a brand new cabinet in just a single day. But there was something wrong with the magic in it. Something internal. Every last attempt, every last spell and every last book he sought failed him from figuring out the issue at hand.
But he didn't give up. He couldn't. Because if he did, he would have had to think about his other task. The one where he has to kill Dumbledore. Just the mere thought of it always sent him into a state of panic. He couldn't do it- atleast, not then. So he picked himself up from the floor and pushed on.
Two whole months he had spent on fixing the magic of the cabinet without any result. Two whole months where Voldemort grew impatient with Draco Malfoy's futility.
He had been called back to the manor last week- the first week of December.
Voldemort had used the Cruciatus Curse on him again and it was the same like before- excrutiatingly painful. But he didn't try to block the pain with Occlumency. He had let it wash over himself, coat him in a layer of it's own. He felt like he deserved it. Alas, all he had been is a failure.
He remembers the scene ever so vividly in his mind. And he replays it over so as to give him the push he needed.
"I'm trying hard, my lord", he had rasped out, the intensity of the pain holding him to the ground even after the curse was lifted off of him.
"You're not trying hard enough", Voldemort had hissed straight back, cruel eyes set on him as he hovered above. "You're just as useless as your father. Maybe I should bring in someone else."
He strode away to the door of the drawing room and ordered the Death Eaters behind it to enter. Corban Yaxley and Linden Emerson walked in. Draco had felt his heart strain even further.
"Linden", Voldemort murmured, rounding about on the sturdy man who did not have a flicker of emotion on his face. For a split second, his gaze had fell on Draco who was sprawled upon the floor on all four limbs, and then it was fixed straight ahead. "My ever faithful Linden."
"Yes, my lord. You wished to see me?"
"Yes Yes. You see..", Voldemort coaxed, placing a hand on the back of his neck. "Mr. Young Malfoy here had been assigned a task of extreme importance but it turns out he is just as incapable as his father." A momentary snicker from all three men as Draco felt nothing but disgust and disappointment grow in his guts. "I'm afraid he might need some assistance."
"How can I help, my lord?"
"See now, it's not you that has to help, Linden."
Draco's heart dropped then- and he could remember hearing Linden's too. "Then?", the man forced out but from the hitch in his breath, it was clear that he had already known.
"Your daughter, of course", Voldemort had said simply like it was the most normal thing there is, walking back upto face him with a smile- a subtly threatening one. "What was her name again?"
"Zilliah", Yaxley was the one to respond, a disgusting smile plastered across his face. Draco had felt the instant desire to beat it off of him. "Zilliah Emerson."
"Zilliah?", Voldemort asked, bringing a hand to his chin, thinking. "Sounds familiar, her name. Have I ever seen her, Linden?"
"No, I'm afraid you haven't, my Lord", Linden responded even though something in his voice had made Draco think he was lying. But neither Voldemort nor Yaxley seemed to catch upon it.
"Very well. Very well", Voldemort mused and walked back upto Draco. "Young Miss Emerson will be assisting you. What do you say about that, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco saw Linden's gaze fall on him, almost imploringly. He seemed to know that whatever this was- it was no good for his daughter.
"No", Draco was quick to respond, forcing himself to his knees despite the pain at every joint in his body. He didn't need her father's pleads to keep her out of this. He had his own concern and care. "She would only slow me down."
"It isn't as if you're moving at a turtle's pace now, is it?"
"I'm so close, my lord. And someone like Zilliah Emerson- someone so incompatible and naive- she would only get in the way. I promise I won't fail you if you give me just a little more time."
With the wave of a hand, Voldemort ordered the two men out of the room and as they left, Draco had seen relief washing over Emerson's features while disappointment settled in Yaxley's. Voldemort stepped back and seated himself upon the armchair before Draco.
"Very well", he mumbled. "She is just a girl after all."
"Exactly, my lord."
"But Bellatrix was only a girl when she joined my force and she outdid all my men, did you know that?"
"I didn't."
"So maybe, Zilliah Emerson is just right for this, don't you think?"
"No, my lord. Emerson is no Bellatrix, I can assure you that", Draco said, never really lying. Zilliah is not his aunt- not in the slightest. "She is of no real value to the cause."
"That's not upto you to decide, is it?"
"My Lord-"
"Two more months, Draco. Till the end of January. That's all you get to complete both your tasks. Fail me, you can say goodbye to your mother and father and prepare to rot away in your own dungeons."
Two more months. That's all he has got now to keep his parents alive and keep Zilliah out of this mess. With that thought in mind, he draws his walls back up and enters Three Broomsticks, trying to remain unnoticed.
He had bought a Cursed Opal Necklace from Borgin and Burkes when he went there to force some information regarding the cabinet out from Borgin.
"But Mr. Malfoy, why would you need such a dangerous artifact. Don't you think-"
"Mind your own damn business, Borgin."
Draco did need that artifact. He need it because he could, never in a million years, have a face to face duel with Dumbledore and win. Hell, even the darkest wizard of all time, Voldemort himself, wouldn't be able to best Dumbledore. Voldemort was far less powerful and he knew it. And he feared it. That's why, being the coward he is, he had forced the job upon the Draco. And Draco had no way out of it if he wants his girl and his family to remain safe, not to say his own self.
Blending into the shadows, he slips towards a corner of the pub, scanning for a suitable carrier. The necklace was cursed with such black magic that whoever lays so much as a finger on it will die almost instantly. And this was what he was planning to deliver to Dumbledore, to kill him.
Kill. Murder someone. Murder Dumbledore. Murder the wizard who is about the only one in the phase of existence that Voldemort fears. Murder the Headmaster of the Hogwarts who is the only reason the school was safe at the moment.
He knew these thoughts would make him run back to his room and hurl his guts out. He knew that he would lock himself there for days on end. He knew if he did so, he'll endanger the ones he care about. And that's exactly why he had put up his walls in advance- so that he could feel nothing. No uncertainty. No sympathy. No guilt. Just emptiness.
For a few moments, atleast.
His plan was simple. He couldn't give it to Dumbledore himself or he will be caught instantly. So he decided to give this necklace wrapped in cloth to a student and put them under the Imperius Curse and instruct them to deliver it to Dumbledore.
And that's exactly what he does in the following minutes. Noticing Katie Bell, the Chaser for the Gryffindor quidditch team, get up and walk to the restroom alone, Draco marks her down to be the carrier.
Remaining to the shadows, he makes his way to the restroom that was empty save Katie who was now walking out. Pulling her into the darker part of the hallway, he uses the curse on her quickly and instructs her on the matter. Her eyes turn ghostly white as he does so. It gives him a certain creepy feeling despite his Occlumency walls.
"You are to deliver this to Dumbledore and only Dumbledore and you will not remember who gave you this", he murmurs, looking into those hollow eyes, devoid of any real life. "Do you understand?"
A nod in response.
Feeling a hint of success, he slips further back into the darkness and lets the curse lift. The light in her eyes return and for a few seconds, she remains in the spot, probably trying to figure out how she had reached there. But soon, she shrugs it away and walks off. Draco releases a breath he didn't know he was holding in.
After letting five minutes pass, he too makes his way back and makes to get the hell out of this place before anyone sees him there. But no, that doesn't happen. Because Potter- fucking Potter, of course- who is sitting by one of the tables- spots him as he walks to the door.
He shoots a look of suspicion his way and Draco tries to not let it get to him. Sliding back and keeping to the side, he exits the pub.
The chilly wind hits his face instantly and he feels his heart calm just that little for he is instantly reminded of Zilliah's touch. It was always so cold not necessarily because she was icy all the time but because he was too warm. He had grown to adore how they balance off each other in that way.
He walks back into the castle and makes his way straight to the room, locking himself in. Because thinking about Zilliah- the ache for her- it had triggered his walls and they tumbled to the floor in an instant. And soon every last bit of feeling he was trying to ignore, swam up to the surface, overwhelming him.
All he could do was get in the scorching bath and scratch away at his forearm- his mind spinning, his chest throbbing.
-
The darkness outside assures Draco that quite a while has passed as he steps out of his room, dressed up in a fresh, white turtleneck sweater and brown pants. He pushes back his wet, blond locks and makes his way upto the common room.
Dumbledore could be dead by now, he is reminded with every step he takes. It would be because of him. All because of him. The castle would tumble down because of him. The students here- his friends- would be in the way of danger because of him.
He can barely focus in on his surroundings as there's a blur to everything in his vicinity. Like he is viewing everything through a fishbowl.
He wishes he had been. Atleast then, he didn't have to do anything. He could just let the days melt into nights and the nights into days. He could have no part in all of this.
-
"Katie Bell?!"
"Yes, Katie Bell is dead", Draco hears a fourth year as he is on the last stair and the wind is suddenly knocked out of him. "They say she had been cursed by a necklace."
The necklace. Katie Bell.
Draco had forgotten to warn her not to touch it. And that simple mistake had cost an innocent life. A life that wasn't meant to be taken.
"She was such a-" Draco doesn't her what she was. Because he is already sprinting straight down to his room, his lungs unwilling to draw in air, his heart pounding against his chest and his mind purely shattering.
Draco Malfoy has become a murderer.